


Mercy

by saturnlly



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Choking, Circus, Drug Use, Fear, Haly's Circus, Insanity, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Games, My First AO3 Post, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Porn, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Smut, Threesome, Twincest, Twinleska - Freeform, Violence, Wayleska - Freeform, Wayleskacest, im probably missing a bunch of tags but just know its about to get real smutty, valeyne - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnlly/pseuds/saturnlly
Summary: The second Valeska strode to his side, gloved hand moving to grip his chin harshly enough to cause bruising, "so, you think you've gone insane, is that it?"Bruce knew that he shouldn't give in to what he thought, no- knew were just pieces of his past coming to play as the not-exactly-legal substances ran through his system. But this felt just as real as the night where the skin of his hands paled in comparison to the crimson liquid dripping down his hands. A faint, breathless answer left his mouth, "...yes.""You haven't just yet, but you will."
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not good at all but I couldn't sleep so here we are...

There were moments where clarity would breach through Bruce Wayne’s foggy mind just as the sky after a storm. The grey clouds would part for just a moment and then the boy was swept up into his own self pitying thoughts once more. But he didn’t want to think about how he had everything he wanted and how he’d ruined all of it in just a few years. He didn’t want to think about what was. Or what is. Or what will be.

And so, to his clarity, he would slam another shot of liquor down his already scorched throat.

He slammed the shot glass down on the polished wooden surface, his arm wrapping back around one of the girls practically attached to him at the hip. They certainly were attractive by societal standards but he was never attracted to the women who chose to fling themselves upon him. Or just women generally, if he was being honest.

It was all for show. Not for the onlookers who were surely somewhere beyond his ability to see past the bright, colorful lights. Perhaps he thought that he could prove something to himself if he had people around him. If he could pretend that they weren’t just around for what’s in his bank account, then maybe he could pretend that he had everything he wanted.

His face mocked some semblance of joy as he laughed at yet another joke cracked by someone at the table. His eyes glanced out over the crowd of mingling people and just as he’d pulled his gaze back to what was happening at his booth, he had to do a double take.The purple and blue hued lights flashed upon what was thought to be a nightmare of his own making. The corners of his lips fell, swallowing what little saliva he had (as his mouth had seemingly run dry) down his constricting throat.

There were two pairs of eyes boring right back into his own. Two lips stretched into wide, tooth-filled grins. Two copy and paste images of the same boy wearing what he had the night of his murder.

Two mirrored fragments of a memory parting the fog.

Bruce cleared his throat, plastering a cookie cut grin across his face as he looked back to his friends who weren’t really his friends. His hand raised as he beckoned one of the workers over to the table again, “another round for the table!”

The sound of his pleased peers wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy and sooth the similar feeling of plunging a knife to his stomach. Though, the shard of an un-welcomed memory was pushed back into the fog just enough for his mind to slow and focus on what was happening around him at the booth. Anything to get rid of thoughts about ginger locks of hair and green-blue eyes, right? Anything to rid the forefront of his mind of the memory of what he had done.

When more shots were placed in the middle of the table, Bruce didn’t hesitate to take another small glass between his slender fingers and sling the contents down his throat to chase the last. The glass clinked back down on the wood loudly enough for Bruce’s hazy mind to register through the music.

He scanned the crowd again for him and his double before he was satisfied that they’d only been a part of his imagination. Satisfied that he wasn’t that far gone. That he wasn’t undeniably certifiably insane because that would be just as tragic as a poor soul working in a traveling circus only to be mistakenly murdered at the hands of a billionaire—

“— brat. That’s him, Bruce Wayne, right?” The drunken boy could hear a female voice talking to another but upon looking around for the source, he couldn’t find them. He was used to people talking about him as the topic of poor, orphaned Bruce Wayne never seemed to cease when he was in any room filled with people.

“Yeah, I heard that his parents died a few years back.”

“God… What would they think of him now?”

Bruce’s heart sunk ever so slightly in his chest. What would they think of their little billionaire brat?

“I’ll… I’ll be back in a few minutes,” his arms unwrapped themselves from around the shoulders of the two somewhat older women before he got up to shaky feet. He made his way to the bathrooms, stumbling and nearly face planting several times but he had finally made it to the sink. His hands gripped the sides of the cold porcelain as his chest rose and fell in a much faster succession than he would have preferred.

Bruce turned on the sink, hands moving to cup the water streaming down from the faucet. He bent down further to splash his face, the cold making him feel the slightest bit grounded. His heart calmed in his chest as he leaned on the edges of the sink and focused on the water dripping down his face and into the porcelain bowl, eventually finding its way down the drain.

The small hairs on the back of his neck could be felt prickling as they stood up, “Isn’t my own punishment enough?”

The boy looked up and into the mirror, gazing past himself and at the two identical boys behind him. He sees him every time he closes his eyes and now there were two of him. His waking moments were thought to be more blissful than the ones where he dreamt but it would seem that now he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t escape what he’d done or what he was.

Murderer.

One of them walked up until he was directly behind the dark-haired boy, “what do you mean, Brucie?” The ginger lowered his head until his chin was resting on Bruce’s bony shoulder. A hand, scarred with healed cuts and gashes reached up, resting against the side of the boy’s face.

The touch felt as if it was burning his skin as an iron would, but surely the realism was a result of whatever one of his friends had given him not too long ago. “Jerome, you’re not real.” Bruce squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the hand slide through his hair, tugging harshly once it found its place atop his head. “You’re not real. You’re—“

The chin on his shoulder left as his head was pulled back against Jerome’s chest, his adam’s apple jutting out further with his exposed throat. The second red-head spoke, stepping back into view in the mirror, out of the first’s shadow, “you don’t really believe that, do you Bruce?”

“You…” Bruce could see the ceiling tiles starting to tilt and reset and start over again, “are dead. I killed you... and now there’s two... This is all in my head, it has to be…”

The second Valeska strode to his side, gloved hand moving to grip his chin harshly enough to cause bruising, “so you think you’ve gone insane, is that it?”

Bruce knew that he shouldn’t give in to what he thought, no— knew were just pieces of his past coming to play as the not-exactly-legal substances ran through his system. But this felt just as real as the night where the skin of his hands paled in comparison to the crimson liquid dripping down his hands. A faint, breathless answer left his mouth, “...yes.”

A cheshire grin met his stoic, masked expression in the mirror’s reflection, “you haven’t just yet, but you will.”

“What do you…” Bruce blinked a few times as if that would help the room stop spinning around them, his brows furrowing, “mean?”

“You’ll see,” The sound of maniacal laughter echoed around Bruce as the lights went out, plunging him into darkness. The hands that had been gripping onto him were gone and then he was left to stumble his way through the dark bathroom.

Startled shouts and gasps could be heard faintly from the club goers as the music ceased to play loudly into their ears. Bruce struggled to find the open doorway that would take him to the crowd of panicked people, his assumed hallucinations quickly forgotten.

When he found the doorway, something pressed firmly to his chest, breath fanning out across his cheek, “not so fast, Brucie.”

Bruce weakly shoved the presumed limb holding him back from his chest, “Just leave me... alone…” His efforts to get out the door didn’t work as another hand pressed against his chest as a barrier between him and the rest of the club. “I’ve got to... figure out what’s going on…”

“He still thinks that this isn’t real, doesn’t he?” The amusement could be heard in his tone as he spoke.

“I think so, Miah,” the other answered with a laugh. “Perhaps he’s closer than we originally thought.” The shorter boy didn’t have time to connect and figure out what they were speaking of as he continued to make feeble attempts to push his way out of the bathroom.

“Get out of my head,” Bruce’s voice was breathy from his efforts as he fought off his dizziness. Just as he’d spoken, his knees buckled under his weight. His body would’ve fallen on its side if it weren’t for two pairs of hands finding their way beneath either of his arms.

He was hoisted up, his feet dragging on the ground. One of the ginger boys huffed loudly, though it wasn’t due to Bruce’s weight. “Finally. I thought you said he’d go down sooner.”

“It’s different for everybody, Jey.”

Bruce barely registered that they had started walking and when he did, he couldn’t do anything about the way that his heart slammed harder against his rib cage, “where are we going?”

“To the place where you killed me, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be longer with smut.


End file.
